A Minor Incident
by lifeluver
Summary: But Puck never got to say what he bet this time, because he was interrupted by a whisper from the other boy, so quiet he barely heard the earth shattering statement that had caused this entire painful encounter and effectively ruined Puck's naptime.
1. Chapter 1

"How are you feeling today Noah?" asked the kind nurse, hovering above him holding a thermometer upside down.

Puck faked a cough and his best puppy dog eyes. "Still not so good," he whispered hoarsely. The nurse clucked her sympathy and bustled away, leaving him to his second period bed in peace. Sometimes he felt a little guilty for taking advantage of the old woman, but then he would fall asleep, far away from the pressures of algebra and he would forget all about it.

Today, however, Puck was not in the mood for sleep. As soon as the nurse was out of earshot he edged his bed closer to the wall and pressed his ear up against it. The best part about the location of the health room, other than it being far away from his class, was that it shared a wall with Principal Figgins' office. Ever since he had overheard Coach Sylvester complaining that Mr. Schue's hair gel had artificial additives that were poisoning his students one day, he'd developed a habit of eavesdropping on them, just in case.

Just yesterday Brittany had been in the principal's office worrying quite sincerely that a mountain lion had eaten her English homework, and she wasn't sure when she would get it back. The day before that he overheard Karofsky being reamed for, as Figgins put it, pleasuring himself in the linen closet. So, Puck had figured, there was nothing wrong with adding a bit of entertainment to his hour of rest and relaxation, especially if it had the added bonus of reaffirming his dominance over the other jocks.

A win-win situation, for him anyway.

Unfortunately, it did not seem like today's show was going to be a comedy. For the first few minutes all Puck could hear was quiet voices, their words indiscernible through the walls. Puck rolled his eyes in exasperation; probably some anorexic Cheerio getting a pep talk she would later ignore as she was emptying her stomach in the third floor bathroom. Just as he was searching for a clock to tell him how much longer he was stuck in this hell he heard a shout so loud and unexpected he practically smashed his head into the wall trying to escape it.

Some kid was yelling, annoyingly loudly in Figgins' office. Puck could hear the principal trying to calm him down, soothe him, but now his ears were ringing with the blow to his head and he couldn't focus on what they were saying. The nurse whose name he should probably learn came dashing around the corner, mumbling to herself about disrupting the ill before retreating back to the safety of her desk.

Puck cursed to himself, then cursed whatever brat was currently going ballistic at the principal. He wondered if it would be like that time that quiet kid brought a gun to school, swore to kill all the jocks that had tortured him, then realized he'd forgotten to buy bullets. Figgins had given him a week suspension and put him in some new "special" classes to help with his "problems." Puck had stopped tossing him into dumpsters too, but that had been more of a self-preservation technique than anything else.

As the yelling, no really more of screaming, continued, Puck realized that he recognized that shrill voice. He only knew one dude in the school whose voice was that prone to reaching that shrieking pitch that so bugged him. This was that queer kid from Glee Club. Like that narrowed it down much, Puck thought with a snigger, before realizing there was no one else around to appreciate his joke.

But why would Hummel be yelling at the principal? Had someone spilled Orangina on his messenger bag? Or slusheed him in his new Gucki shirt he wouldn't stop bragging about that morning? And why the hell was he still thinking about this?

Sparing a quick glance back towards the front of the room Puck shoved his bed back to it's proper position and tried his best to ignore the noise from the room over. Within minutes Puck was asleep and had forgotten all about Kurt Hummel.

It was a good twenty minutes later when hushed whispers awoke him. Crankily, Puck opened one lazy eye and searched his surroundings for the offender. The nurse evidently had a new patient to tend to. The kid was shielded from his view by her rather chubby physique and she was fussing over him obsessively.

"Just let me know if you need anything else dear," she said before patting his head and waddling out of the way. As soon as she was out of the way Puck opened his other eye and sat up for a better view.

The kid was facing the wall, dark hair obscuring most of his face and holding a cup of sweet tea.

Wait he got sweet tea? Puck never got tea. Feeling rather betrayed by the nurse he thought he'd been on good terms with, Puck glared at this kid.

"What are you in here for?" he barked across the room, but received no reply. "Hey, dude, I'm talking to you!"

The boy still didn't turn to face him, but did lift one dainty hand to brush his bangs away from his eye and oh yeah. Hummel.

Puck weighed his options. Condemn himself to sitting in silence with the geek for the next forty seven minutes, go to class, or try to start up a conversation and risk social exile for speaking to the queer.

Well class was out of the question; he was pretty sure the last time he'd seen his math textbook had been when he accidentally peed on it one night after Santana got him drunk. Plus, he wasn't entirely certain he could find the room if he went in search.

So he decided to go with the silent treatment.

Which, if he did say so himself, was going quite well for the first seven and half minutes, until Hummel started sniffling. And not the quiet, "I've got a cold" kind of sniffles, these were the big, loud, snot-filled, "My husband just left me and I've got to support two kids on my own" kind of sniffles. Or that was what he most closely identified them with anyway.

Puck figured that the kid was probably in some serious trouble for yelling at Figgins, and no matter how lame he was, that was a pretty cool thing to do, so he reached behind him and tossed the guy a box of Kleenex.

It was so not his fault or his intention that the box whacked the kid on the side of his head. He'd been trying to do something nice for once, and it wasn't his fault Hummel had the reflexes of a dying cat on anti-depressants.

The loud, comical whack the box caused when it made contact was pretty funny though, so no one should really be able to blame him for laughing a little.

His snicker was enough to finally get Hummel's attention though, and he turned to face Puck for the first time to shoot him the withering death glare that he had perfected over the past few months. The sight was enough to sober Puck immediately. His face was pink and pinched, the blue of his eyes standing out in sharp contrast to the red surrounding them, peeking into the iris, and tear tracks were staining his cheeks. Evidently satisfied in his ability to silence the other boy, Kurt turned away again, surreptitiously reaching for the offending tissues.

"Uh, I meant to, I mean that was supposed, I didn't, yeah." Puck wasn't entirely certain what he was trying to say, so he figured it'd be best if he just stopped.

To his great annoyance, years of dealing with his mom when she was upset over her latest deadbeat boyfriend and his baby sister when she was bullied had trained him never to leave a girl alone when she was crying. And Hummel certainly looked the part enough, what with his scrunched up, pitiful face.

And so, lacking his brain's approval, his mouth decided not to just let it be, and do the complete opposite of shutting up.

"Figgins ream into you, huh?" No answer. "That's happened to me a few times. This one time, he called my mom and told her that I was a disgrace to the entire population of Israel because I locked a kid in a locker for six hours and tried to feed him beef jerky. Said I couldn't treat freshman like I do my pets." Puck tried for a conspiratorial smile. After all, he didn't go sharing his best pranks with just anyone, Hummel ought to be grateful.

"I remember. That was my thirteenth birthday, and I stunk of jerky for a month."

Oh. Crap.

"And I would hope you take better care of your pets than that," Kurt added in a barely audible whisper, his voice shaky.

Puck remembered Pogo, his hamster who died under mysterious circumstances, and whose body it took him a week and a half to find in it's cage and chose not to respond to that comment.

"So why are you here? Are you actually sick? Cuz you look like shit." Hummel made a weird, hacking sob noise and Puck figured maybe he should soften the blow. "You know, comparatively."

This had to be the most one-sided conversation he'd had since dating that Rachel chick, and in that situation he'd always been on the other side.

"Listen, Puck," the name rolled of his tongue like a derogatory slur that nearly made it's owner wince. "I'm really not in the mood for your pathetic attempts at humor. If you could just leave me alone. Please." The smaller boy's voice trailed off by the end, making his firm declaration come off as more of a desperate plea.

"Fine. Whatever. I didn't want to talk to you anyway."

Puck was mildly offended that he just got blown off by Hummel of all people, as though he was in the position to be picking and choosing his friends. On the bright side, though, this did solve his problem for him. Back to the silent treatment plan.

Which, once again, had been proceeding perfectly when the world, and maybe a tiny amount of his own insolence decided to fuck it up.

He lounged back on the thin mattress and made a show of getting as comfortable as possible. Kurt continued sitting stiffly on one corner of his bed, his arms wrapped protectively around his waist.

"Here, sweetie, why don't you eat some of this?" Nurse Something-or-Another was back, and this time with a plate of cookies.

Wait, so Hummel goes all ballistic on the principal of the school and is rewarded with freaking cookies, and yet the one time that Puck let a little livestock into his English class the liven things up he got lunch detention for a month. Life was so unfair.

"Why does he get food?" Puck demanded indignantly.

Nurse Whatserface turned to him, her former kind smile disappeared, replaced by a tight, furious frown.

"Special circumstances, Noah. Now get some rest if you want to feel better." Her words were clipped and harsh as she spoke to him.

Fuck Hummel. Three months of sucking up to this nurse and he comes in for like, five minutes and suddenly she couldn't care less about him.

Turning her back on Puck, Nurse Bitchface said to Kurt in a much milder tone, "We're still trying to get in touch with your family. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thanks Nurse Krimmel," Kurt murmured softly.

Fine, so he knew her name.

"Nurse's pet," Puck muttered as she walked away. Turning to face the wall he continued, "What the hell did you ever do to get cookies? Fucking-OW!"

There was a lump forming on his head, a broken cookie on his bed, and Fucking Kurt Hummel sitting two beds over with a far too self-satisfied smirk on his face.

This was the worst day of all time.

He ate the cookie anyway.

"You know," Puck started a few minutes later after polishing off his sixth cookie (eventually he realized Hummel was throwing them to him more to shut him up and in hopes of whacking him on the head again than out of any semblance of kindness). Kurt hung his head in exasperation, clearly wishing he had more baked goods to serve as bribery. "I bet you're in a whole lot of trouble if they're calling your family."

Kurt didn't respond, choosing rather to continue staring deliberately at one spot in the beige wall in front of him.

"You'll probably end up suspended," Puck continued.

"Do you ever just shut up?" Kurt yelled in frustration, his voice approaching that octave that only dogs could hear.

"Is everything OK back there? Noah, are you behaving?"

"Everything's fine Nurse Krimey!" Puck called back, hoping to appease her and avoid getting in trouble. It wasn't his fault Hummel had thin skin.

"Krimmel. Nurse Krimmel, dumbass. You only spend everyday here."

Puck shot him a fierce look, but luckily Nurse Krimmel didn't seem to interested in following up on her patients.

In hindsight he would wonder why he couldn't just leave it at that, why he had to keep bugging the kid. Then again, what was it that Rachel said when she was doing her version of an apology for trying to get the Glee Club to do a spirited production of The Color Purple, starring her and Hudson? My hindsight's 20/20, it's my foresight that sucks. Schue had murmured that any kind of sight could see that that idea sucked, but he was pretty sure Rachel hadn't heard.

In any event, Puck did not shut up, because he was Puck and quite frankly, he wasn't sure he knew how.

"Bet your dad is gonna be pissed when he finds out you yelled at Figgins." Again, with the gift of hindsight, Puck would be able to recognize the way Hummel winced at that statement, the way he pulled his legs up to his chest, folding into himself.

"He'll be real disappointed. More disappointed than he was when he found out his kid was a queer, even. If that's possible. God, I bet he-" But Puck never got to say what he bet this time, because he was interrupted by an almost inaudible whisper from the other boy, so quiet he barely heard the earth shattering statement that had caused this entire painful encounter and effectively ruined Puck's morning naptime.

"My dad's dead."

Oh shit.


	2. Chapter 2

Puck stared blankly at Kurt, who had returned his gaze to the stark, beige wall. He was vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging open, and his mother would tell him to shut it before he caught some flies. Kurt was shredding a tissue with shaking hands, as though he wasn't even aware he was doing so, and Puck shook his head to try and clear his thoughts.

"Are you in shock or something?" he asked before he could help himself.

Kurt turned to look at him, a slightly confused expression adorning his delicate features.

"Well, are you?" Puck pressed. The kid was taking this way too well, was far too calm for any of this to be real.

"I-I don't know. You can't just ask someone that," Kurt said, his voice almost exasperated if it wasn't so exhausted, as though explaining this to Puck was just the cherry on top of his bad day.

But this day wasn't just bad, it should be monumentally terrible. If Puck was him, he'd be throwing that box of tissues against the wall, screaming his guts out, cussing at the teachers.

OK, so maybe Hummel did do that last part. But now he was altogether too relaxed, too resigned. Something was seriously wrong with this picture.

"Is this a joke? Because this isn't funny, Hummel!"

This time when Kurt looked at him Puck caught his eye and held it for a moment. Kurt's light blue eyes were so full of sadness, of despair, that it seemed to be an almost Herculean feat that he was even sitting upright. His features were drawn in such a way that he appeared for the first time in his life far older than his years. His normally impeccable brown hair was mussed and his body slumped over itself. Puck cursed himself for being too caught up in himself and failing to notice any of this earlier.

"No Noah," he whispered, like he was at his wits end in explaining himself to an insolent three year old. "It's not a joke."

Puck really didn't know what to say to that, and since Kurt had looked away again, back to his spot on the wall, he figured he didn't have to say anything.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Kurt watching a wall, and Puck watching Kurt. It was the longest minutes of Puck's life, so painfully awkward that he seriously considered excusing himself to try and locate his math class and spend the rest of the school day attempting to learn something. And yet, just as he trying to remember where his locker was, he'd felt a pang of guilt in his stomach at the idea of leaving Hummel all alone in the office.

Which, even he had to admit, was pretty stupid given that he'd hardly proven to be an adequate companion so far. In fact, he was fairly certain he was making things exponentially worse just by sitting there. But Kurt looked so lost and so small on that hard, navy bed, that he couldn't bring himself to leave.

So, having resigned himself to keep him company whether Hummel liked it or not, Puck figured he should know how long exactly he'd sentenced himself to this hell.

"Are they, uh, calling your mom?" he asked, in a voice he hoped sounded sincerely concerned.

This time Kurt didn't even spare him a glance when he answered in that same quiet, hollow tone, "My mom's dead."

_Jesus Christ._

He even knew that one too. He remembered those times in Glee where it had been awkwardly inserted into conversation and the rest of the club grew temporarily silent.

_No, she's dead, this is her son._

He needed a muzzle or something. Every single statement out of his mouth so far this morning had only made things worse. Or maybe just duck tape his mouth, he was sure Quinn would volunteer.

"I think Principal Figgins said he'd call my uncle. He, uh, he lives a few miles away."

This was the first time Kurt had volunteered any information without being prompted, which Puck decided to take as a victory, however small it may be. He also decided it was an invitation to continue the conversation.

"Cool. Are you guys close?"

"No." And now his face had closed off again and Puck assumed that this was the end of that chat.

Fuck, Hudson would be so much better at this. Or even that black chick who screamed a lot that Hummel was always hanging around. Pretty much anyone but him would be preferable.

A loud, shrill phone rang in the front of the office, causing Puck to practically jump out of his skin. Kurt didn't react, he just sat there, frozen, and Puck was starting to put some credence to his shock theory, even if asking directly hadn't lent itself to a diagnosis.

"Kurt, sweetie, your uncle's going to be here in a little while," called the nurse. Kurt didn't respond immediately, so Puck kicked him in the shin just in case he'd gone comatose or something.

He hadn't, and that far-off, empty look on his face was now replaced with a rather pissed off one, which Puck ignored.

"Ok," Kurt answered, after clearing his throat a few times.

As soon as Hummel's uncle arrived Puck could go back to class and continue with his day, guilt-free. He did his duty in keeping him company, none of those bratty Glee kids could be angry at him, and he might even earn some of that good karma he was in such sore need of. All he needed to do was survive until Mr. Hummel got there.

Puck glanced at the clock above the cabinet with the bandages in it. 9:45. In a detached way he was mildly impressed at just how busy a morning he had had. Kurt said his uncle only lived a few miles away, so factoring in the whole shocked, "My brother is dead," reaction, he figured it would probably be about twenty minutes until he got here and then-

"Figgins said it was a heart attack. That uh, he was found in the shop, and by then it was too late to, uh," Kurt trailed off, his high voice collapsing into hiccups that sounded an awful lot like sobs.

Puck froze in his seat, still watching the clock. He honestly hadn't expected Kurt to talk to him. Kurt's crying quieted down and Puck wondered if it was safe to look at him now, because he didn't want him to be embarrassed about crying in front of him.

"He felt sick last night, but I was tired and I didn't ask him about it. And now he's...he's dead."

Puck finally whipped his head around to face Kurt, who was hugging his knees to his chest. He wasn't crying after all, instead his face was curiously blank, like he couldn't process the words he was saying. Hesitantly Puck stood up and took a step towards the smaller boy, and Kurt immediately flinched and hugged himself tighter. That familiar punch of guilt in his gut struck Puck again.

As emotionally oblivious as he tended to be, even Puck realized that Kurt was blaming himself, and that was bad. Because, shit, it wasn't Hummel's fault his dad had a heart attack. And he knew very little about them, but he was pretty confident in saying that a sixteen year old kid isn't responsible for diagnosing early stages of heart failure. Trying to convince Kurt of this, however, was a whole other matter. Especially because it appeared as though he wasn't really hearing anything anymore.

Since he wasn't the best person to be comforting Hummel, he tried to think of what that crazy-eyed guidance counselor would do in his position. Probably give him a pamphlet titled _I Killed My Dad, Ask me How_ or something equally dumb. Mr. Schue would pull him aside for a shallow heart to heart and then assign him a song to sing, explaining how he felt and hope they could use it at Regionals. Coaches Sylvester and Tanaka would scream that this better not affect his performance at upcoming games/meets, and going through this list was making Puck realize just how useless the adults in his life were, so he did the only thing that made sense.

He did it his way.

"Do you wanna bust out of here or something?" He quirked a small, conspiratorial smile at the younger boy, who looked at him in disbelief.

After a moment where it seemed like Kurt was trying to see if he had misunderstood, he responded somewhat bitterly, "Aren't you worried your jock friends will see you hanging out with the queer?"

"Nah, they're all in class now, they won't see."

Something about the way Hummel was looking at him now, that mix of annoyance and exhaustion, tipped Puck off that maybe that wasn't the answer he had been looking for.

"Do you want to go or not?" Puck repeated, slightly impatiently. Hummel's uncle could be getting here any minute, this wasn't the time for indecisiveness. Just as he was about to give up on his rather ill-thought out plan, Kurt finally answered.

"Fine, let's do it." He sounded about as shocked at his own words as Puck felt. Puck nodded tersely and began looking for an escape.

"OK, when I give you the signal, you go out the front door and wait for me by the parking lot, got it?"

"What's the signal?"

"Jesus Christ, Hummel, you'll know it when you see it."

One frantic and concerned nurse, two faked retchings, three failed hand signals and a swift kick to Hummel's shin later and Puck was finally exiting the building, an excuse note in hand. As he approached the parking lot he scanned the area for Kurt, but came up empty.

Shit. Did he run away? Maybe this had been a bad idea. Hummel definitely shouldn't be driving in his condition, and the image of him wandering around in the streets was almost as disturbing. One designer messenger bag peeking out from behind a pillar cut through his thoughts and Puck jogged towards it.

As he rounded the corner he saw Kurt, crouched down and staring at the sky. Slowly Puck approached him and, after a moment of gauging his reaction, sat on the cool, dewy grass next to him. This time Kurt didn't flinch.

"What, uh, what are you doing?" Puck asked bluntly.

"It's sunny." Puck murmured his agreement, but inwardly started panicking. Because, yes, while it was technically true that the sun was currently out, that wasn't a revelation that should cause someone to plop their asses down on the ground in the middle of school grounds in shock.

"It feels like it should be raining."

"There was a hurricane the day my dad left," said Puck. "I remember wishing it was sunny so I could follow him."

Kurt peeled his gaze away from the sky and looked at him, his face unreadable. Deciding to end this uncomfortable moment of severe over-share, Puck stood up and helped Kurt to his feet. Instinctively he reached down and slung the boys messenger bag over his own shoulder and then walked towards his car, not bothering to check if Hummel was following, and yet somehow knowing that he was.

It was when Kurt had securely fastened his seatbelt and Puck had put the key into the ignition that Puck's master plan fell apart.

Because fuck, he hadn't really thought of where to _go_.

Sure the idea of getting Hummel away from the school seemed like a good one at the time, but where exactly was a nicer place to deal with being an orphan?

Silently he praised the lords that Kurt was so out of it he didn't seem to realize that Puck had no clue what he was doing. Did he want to go home? Probably not, considering it'd be empty and that would be kind of depressing.

Puck's musings were cut short when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a security guard coming out the side door of the school, and he was suddenly reminded that he was technically harboring a fugitive, and not even the oblivious nurse would remain ignorant for long.

Without another thought on his destination Puck roared out of the parking lot, his truck leaving skid marks in it's wake.

Puck was driving uneventfully in silence for approximately twelve minutes when he suddenly swerved out of the middle lane to make an abrupt left turn into a pharmacy parking lot. Kurt's body swung forward, like a marionette released from it's master's grip, but made no comment on the questionable driving.

"Stay here," Puck mumbled to Kurt as he hopped out of his truck, taking care to lock the door behind him. He kind of doubted Kurt would run away, but that was no reason not to be careful.

When he returned about five minutes later, he thrust the brown paper bag that contained the fruits of his journey into Hummel's lap roughly and restarted the car.

Kurt opened the bag hesitantly and, after examining it's contents, refaced the window.

"Drunk driving, Puck? You didn't tell me this was a suicide mission." Kurt's voice was soft, and Puck wasn't at all sure if he was supposed to hear him or not. He did note with some trepidation, however, that Kurt sounded disturbingly not adverse to that option.

"It's not for me, dumbass," he answered, slightly annoyed at the haphazard way the smaller boy seemed to regard his own safety. "Not yet anyway. I thought it'd be good for you, you know, to help or whatever."

"You thought cheap beer and a Milky Way bar was going to help with the fact that my entire family is dead?" Kurt tried for indignation, but the hitch in his throat when he said the d-word made him sound more like a small, terrified boy than ever before.

Well sure, when said like that, it did sound kind of dumb.

Puck wanted to tell him that his whole family was _not_ dead, that Jones was still willing to beat the living shit out of anyone who hurt him, that Berry would gladly spend the next few months singing every inspirational song in existence to cheer him up, that Artie and Tina would sacrifice whatever it was they normally did on their free time to spend every waking moment with him, and that he and Finn were gonna stick around too.

He wanted to tell him that even if he didn't have a biological family left, he still had his Glee-family, but he couldn't think of a way to say those words without it being incredibly cheesy and dumb, and Puck did not do After School Specials. So instead he grumbled at Hummel to drink his fucking beer and restarted his truck.

As Puck pulled out of the parking lot and resumed his aimless driving, simply for the sake of having something to do with his useless hands, Kurt leaned against his seat, his head lounging against the seatbelt, and stared blankly out the window.

"You know, you can cry if you want. I don't mind."

Kurt's head lolled lazily on the back of his seat and he turned that creepy, empty stare on Puck instead of the passing trees.

"That's very gracious of you Noah," he said, and Puck detected a trace of his trademark sarcasm beneath the thick layer of pain and sadness.

"You know what, Hummel? I'm trying to be nice, you don't have to be such a little bitch about everything. At least I'm making an effort-"

"Turn right here."

Puck did so, nearly causing a multi-car pile up in the act, and found himself careening down a one-way street, dimly aware in the back of his mind that Kurt had probably been completely tuning his rant out.

"Make a left up here." Kurt was sitting up straight in his seat now, his eyes frantically darting back and forth, searching for something. "Here! Pull over."

Puck obeyed, but he barely had a chance to put a foot on the brake before Kurt had swung his door open and was exiting the vehicle.

"Jesus Christ, what are you doing?" Puck yelled, slamming on the brakes. The car made a loud screeching noise, not altogether unlike Kurt's own voice, and the boy was flying out before Puck knew what was happening.

_ What. The. Fuck._

The kid was practically comatose for the past hour and a half, but get him into a speeding car and suddenly he wanted to do his very best Superman impression.

And now he was jogging up a steep grass hill, having completely ignored Puck.

Dully he wondered if he should write a book: _Puck's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Idea._

Cursing his own stupid attempts at kindness, Puck took after him, but not before darting back to grab the six pack. He had a feeling one of them would be needing it before the clock struck noon, and that was depressing, even for him.

"Would you slow down, Hummel!" he shouted as he made his way up the hill, Kurt already disappearing from his view. As he wheezed his way to a slow walk, he wished he'd actually attended Tanaka's conditioning sessions instead of blowing it off to screw Santana in the janitors closet.

Finally he reached the top of the hill, which looked out over a...kid's playground.

Not gonna lie, that was kind of a let down. What would his English teacher say? Anti-climactic. It's not like he had been expecting a giant valley in the middle of Lima, but he kind of figured it would be something cool, like a cemetery. Hummel did have a flair for the dramatic.

Speaking of, Kurt had situated himself on the top of one of the slides, next to the monkey bars. Hoisting his six pack along with the remainder of his patience, Puck dragged his feet to join him.

"Look, dude, I don't really know how this grief thing is supposed to work, but I have cheap beer, which can be really good for numbing out all the shit." Not the most eloquent sales pitch, but given that Kurt had extended a hand in his direction, motioning for a can, it did the trick.

And that was how Noah Puckerman found himself sprawled out on a preschool playground next to Kurt Hummel, sipping beer at 11:24 in the morning.

Neither of them spoke for a while; Kurt because he appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, and Puck because he had officially, and at long last, run out of things to say.

A young father was playing with his son on the other side of the playground. The boy was trying to climb up a slide and when the man turned his back on him momentarily, the boy slipped and fell on his knee. The father jerked back around, and immediately sprung into action, lifting the boy off the slide and hugging him close. As he rocked his son back and forth, the boy's tears slowed, and his cries were silenced.

"My dad used to take me here when I was young. Before my mom died."

Ah. Well that made sense.

"I broke my arm falling off those monkey bars. I was six and my dad hugged me and promised everything would be okay. That it would stop hurting soon."

There was a moment, just a moment, were Puck felt a pang of jealousy deep in his gut, because his father had never made any such promises.

"Do you think this will ever stop hurting?" It was so painfully pathetic to see Kurt turn his big, round blue eyes onto the older boy, desperate for reassurance, that he cursed his traitorous mind for what felt like the thousandth time that morning.

Puck knew the answer to that. He knew it on every Father's Day when he had no gift to give, at every football game where the seat next to his mom was empty, on every birthday where he was one Hallmark card short. He knew the answer, but stayed silent, because Kurt knew it too, knew it on every Mother's day, at every Glee club performance, on every holiday.

This, he realized, was the one thing he had in common with the boy he'd spent so much of his life torturing.

Puck was suddenly aware that Kurt's breathing had shifted, from shallow, quick inhales to harsh, haggard wheezes. His eyes had been following the young family and as they walked away, back to the safety of their home, Kurt's carefully constructed mask, already cracked, shattered under the realization that he had no home to go to.

His entire body was wracked with loud, desperate sobs, raw like each one was being ripped from his throat. Puck watched him uncomfortably, knowing that he was supposed to help, that there had to be something, anything he could do to comfort him, but at a loss as to what it would be.

With one arm, Puck awkwardly patted his teammates back, but that only made him cry harder, and jerk away like the touch had scalded him. The wind whipped Kurt's scarf around his neck, and Puck shivered in the cold. He wondered vaguely if Burt Hummel had been cold when he died.

Kurt's tears were mixing with his snot and for some reason all Puck could think was that he was going to ruin that stupid designer shirt he'd been bragging about that morning (Kurt's smile and pride over the technicolor fabric seemed like a lifetime ago now) so he leaned in and wrapped his long arms around Hummel's tiny chest, clasping his hands together high on the boys back, so that Kurt's face was wedged awkwardly in his collarbone.

It was a weird position to be in for sure. Puck became increasingly aware of this fact as mothers and their children walked to their neighborhood playground only to find a boy who sounded like a dying animal evidently being smothered by a mohawked jock. No one stayed longer than a few minutes.

All the while, Kurt cried. He cried for a grand total of two hours and seventeen minutes, according to Puck's watch. Sometimes the tears slowed and Puck was sure they were going to stop, before something was triggered again and he descended back into the gut-wrenching sobs. Once he was sure Kurt would suffocate if he didn't stop; air not being able to reach his lungs through his tears.

Through it all, he sat there, gently stroking the smaller boys back, tracing circles on his spine like his mom always did when he was sick, pushing that prevalent awkwardness to the back of his mind, ignoring the splinters from the unkept wood beneath him. As the time passed Kurt surrendered to Puck's grip and eventually reached up, clutching at Puck's shirt roughly, manicured nails digging into Puck's skin, sure to leave a mark. He held on to him tightly, as if scared he'd disappear if he were to let go.

And Puck didn't say a word, because there was nothing to say. Nothing could make this better, because this time everything wasn't going to be OK, and they were both painfully aware of that.

Instead he held him close, a silent reminder that at the very least, not everyone in his life was gone. His body heat quieted Kurt's shivers, if not his cries, because if Burt Hummel was cold when he died, Puck wanted his son to be warm while he lived.


	3. Chapter 3

After what felt like an eternity Kurt's body stopped convulsing with sobs and his grip softened, allowing himself to be held limply with his face nuzzled in Puck's neck.

It was a position Puck wouldn't have been caught dead in just hours ago, but now he didn't have the heart to push the other boy away.

The afternoon sun was still beating down on them through the chilly breeze, the metal jungle gym beneath them burning through Puck's old jeans, and the exposed part of the back of Kurt's neck where his collar had slipped was beginning to redden.

Kurt was silent with the exception of the occasional sniffle and Puck wondered if he'd managed to cry himself to sleep. With the effort to calm the other boys cries no longer an issue he was becoming aware of his surroundings again. He felt exposed, vulnerable, as he realized that anyone could see them; anyone could be watching this private display of grief from their windows, intruding on a moment no one should be able to witness.

_(Including him_ he couldn't help but add. _Especially him._)

Shifting his weight to his non-asleep leg he jostled Kurt, but the other boy didn't respond. "Kurt?" Puck whispered, his first name feeling foreign on his lips, but there was no answer, and Kurt's face was still obscured from his vision, carefully buried in Puck's jacket. "Kurt," he tried again, louder, and his voice echoed around the small playground, unseemly and undignified.

The only sign that Kurt was still alive were the slow, warm breaths he exhaled on Puck's neck.

Puck's watch read 1:45; school would be letting out in just over an hour. They had glee that afternoon. He wondered if everyone knew already, or if they'd have to figure it out when neither of them showed up at rehearsal, or if Mr. Schue and Ms. P would have to tell them. He wondered if there were people who bothered looking for them, wondered if Kurt's uncle (Jim? John? Had he said? Had he asked?) had been angry to arrive at the school and not have his nephew there. He wondered if Mr. Figgins had got his second verbal lashing from a Hummel that day.

He wondered why Hummel had taken him up on his offer to get away; why he allowed him to see him so vulnerable. He wondered why he had offered in the first place; why he cared so much about how the bitchy queer was feeling anyway, why he thought this was his problem in the slightest.

_ (He wondered how he would feel if he ever got the same call, how he would grieve for the man that abandoned him)_

With a frustrated groan he shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. They had to get back to the school eventually, had to face reality again at some point no matter how unappealing the prospect was.

"C'mon," he muttered, more for his own sake than anyone else's. He shifted stiffly in his place, trying not to lose his grip on Hummel, whose fingers were still loosely tangled in his own shirt. He slipped one of his arms under Hummel's bent knees and the other stayed on his shoulders, trying to remember how he used to carry his little sister back to her bedroom when she fell asleep during _Schindler's List_ before she decided she was too old for such things.

He repositioned his wooden legs and was just about to lift the lighter boy when he heard a muffled protest and one small hand placed itself on his chest to push him away firmly.

"Don't. I can walk."

If Puck was the type of person prone to embarrassment he was sure his face would be flushing at that point. As it was he just averted his eyes as Hummel disentangled himself ungracefully from his hold and stumbled to his feet.

"Sorry, I, ah, thought you were asleep."

No answer, just a tearstained boy with bright eyes standing on trembling legs smoothing his mussed clothing and trying to regain the shattered remnants of his dignity. Puck couldn't help himself; he had to look away.

"Shall we go?"

"Uh, yeah sure. I parked over that way," Puck said, gesturing vaguely with one hand. Kurt nodded and somehow managed to climb off the jungle gym with something resembling grace. The Kurt Hummel who was putting one foot in front of the other slowly and deliberately was so different from the one that had practically leaped out of his truck just a couple hours ago and dashed across the playground. At once he was much closer to the proud, controlled boy he'd gotten to know over the past year and also nearly unrecognizable to him.

Puck hopped off the jungle gym and followed, hoping that this wouldn't be a permanent change, that he'd somehow managed to retain those annoying traits that made him _him. _

It didn't take long to catch up with Kurt; the other boy was walking slowly as if forcing himself to make each step forward, like he was marching to his death. It made Puck feel slightly guilty. Maybe he should've let them stay there a little longer, let Kurt hide from the world just for a while. After all, it was hardly as though the world had been looking out for him. But it was too late now, too late to turn back.

"Ah, fuck," he hissed under his breath as his car came into view. It was parked crookedly in front of a fire hydrant with a piece of yellow paper sticking up on it's windshield, waving in the wind. He cursed again, jogging the rest of the way and snatching up the ticket.

That was just his luck. Crumpling up the ticket in his fist he thought _police officers shouldn't be able to go around giving tickets while lives are being destroyed._ _It's just tactless._

Hummel had reached the car a few moments after him and was now staring right through him in a way that made Puck feel incredibly exposed and uncomfortable. "It's open," he said gruffly, indicating the door. It wasn't until they were both inside, had fastened their seat belts, and Puck had put the key in the ignition that Kurt finally spoke again.

"Sorry. I can, uh, pay for that for you."

And screw it if that didn't make him feel like an even bigger douche, if that was possible.

"No dude, it was my fault. Just, forget about it. I'm a shit parallel parker anyway." He tried to smile reassuringly, but he was pretty sure it came out as more of a grimace so he stopped quickly.

With that he pulled out of his spot and drowned his discomfort from the silence by focusing on driving. It was a few minutes before either of them spoke again.

"Sorry," Kurt said again softly, and Puck rolled his eyes.

"I said it was fine, I'll just get my mom to pay for it-"

"No, I mean, I'm sorry. For dragging you into this. It's not your problem." Kurt wasn't looking at him, just staring resolutely straight ahead, which Puck was grateful for because he was pretty sure he looked like an idiot gaping like that.

"No-I-I don't mind, it was-it's not-" But Puck had absolutely no idea what he wanted to say, so he finally shut his mouth and stopped trying. He finally realized that he wasn't the only one who'd been thrust out of his comfort zone in this situation.

They passed another few minutes in relative silence. Puck tried turning on the radio, but the obnoxiously cheerful beats and inane lyrics seemed stifling in a car already overstuffed with emotion and he quickly shut it off again. As he did so Kurt mumbled something, so soft Puck wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear.

"I don't want to go back."

Puck paused, his truck stopped at a red light about ten minutes away from the high school, unsure of what to do. "Oh. Uh, well I guess we could get something to eat, or-"

"No. I have to, I just- I don't _want_ to."

"Oh." A moment passes and the light turns green. "I'm really sorry. About your dad and all." Eloquent as always, he mentally reprimanded himself.

"I don't want pity, Puck. Especially yours."

"It's not pity, assface," he said, anger flaring up in his stomach. "I just- my dad left when I was a kid. I know it's not the same, but I know how it feels and I'm sorry you have to feel that way. Take it or leave it."

Kurt didn't respond and Puck decided that meant he was 'taking' it, though he told himself he didn't care either way.

The rest of the drive passed quickly, and when they pulled into the school parking lot the buses were already lined up in their lane. Puck took extra care to park carefully this time, and he tells himself it's due to the ticket stuffed in his pants pocket and not because he's stalling.

"So, we're here," he said pointlessly after he straightened the car out for the third time.

"Yeah," Kurt answered, a little breathlessly, but he made no move to get out of the truck. Puck picked at a loose thread in his seatbelt and wished for the first time in a very long time that his mother was there to tell him what to do.

"I feel like, if I go in there, then it'll be real," Kurt whispered, his voice almost lost in the din of students bustling to board their buses. The parking lot was filling up, kids shouting across to friends, laughing and screaming; a gaggle of bulky boys in letterman jackets standing in front of a dumpster.

"It is real, though," he said bluntly.

Kurt raised his head to meet his eyes, and before Puck could properly berate himself for the lack of sensitivity that Quinn always yelled at him for the corners of Hummel's lips twitched slightly in something that any other day might have been called a smile.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

With a deep breath he bent down and pulled his messenger bag from where Puck had stuffed it under the seat and pushed the door open, letting the wind and noise flood into the truck before slamming it behind him. Puck scrubbed a hand over his face and, hoping he wasn't in for a world of trouble with the teachers, followed suit.

Making their way across the crowded parking lot they attracted quite a few stares. Puck stayed a couple steps behind Kurt, glaring at everyone in their path so that even the cackling football players backed off as they passed the dumpster. Some people were whispering and pointing, and Puck assumed that the McKinley High Gossip -Mongers had lived up to it's reputation yet again.

Kurt didn't seem to care though, he kept his head held high and walked straight through them without sparing them even a withering glare, and if his gait was slightly more rushed than normal, and his eyes sparkling just a tad too brightly then no one would notice.

When Kurt pushed open the doors to Principal Figgins office with shaky hands there was a split second when it felt like the world had stopped. Everyone stared at the two of them, unmoving, all their previous conversations coming to an abrupt halt.

And then there was a shriek, and Kurt staggered backwards a few steps, trodding on Puck's toes, when Mercedes threw herself into his arms. Everyone was yelling, and all ten other members of the glee club, Mr. Schue, Ms. Pillsbury, Principal Figgins, and a handful of adults were all clustered around them.

"Baby, oh my God, are you ok?" Mercedes was saying, cupping Kurt's face with her hands.

"Dude, where've you been?" Finn asked frantically, his eyes wild and worried.

"I'm so sorry about your dad, we've been so worried," that could've been Mike or Artie, he wasn't sure.

"The entire glee club is ready to rally around you for whatever you might need during the extended grieving process, do not hesitate to let us know if there is anything we can do-" that was definitely Rachel.

"ENOUGH!" Figgins' shouted, standing on his chair (and still, Puck might add, barely Finn's height.

Everyone shut up immediately, though Mercedes was guiding Kurt to an open chair with one hand on his arm and the other combing through his messy hair, whispering softly in his ear.

"Now I want everyone who is not an immediate family member to leave, _now_."

And the uproar started up again. Mr. Schue was protesting, presumably on behalf of the club, Finn was shouting something about the definition of family that sounded like it was coming directly out of Berry's mouth, and Puck felt oddly detached from the sight in front of him.

He was watching the scene as though it were a movie; he had no active part in it. Hummel had that wide-eyed, ready to bolt expression back on his face that he'd seen a few hours ago, right before he'd tried to jump out of a moving vehicle and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he should do _something_ but it looked like Aretha had it covered, and _oh yeah, he was a pathetic coward._

In the back corner he saw a tall black man in a suit discussing something in hushed tones with a much shorter man in a plaid shirt and a baseball cap, who he vaguely assumed was Kurt's uncle. Near them Santana was comforting a crying Brittany, but when she looked up she shot him an odd, searching look, and he realized that she was probably the only one who'd realized that he'd come in with Kurt.

"Fine, _fine._ Everyone who is not an immediate family member or a very close friend of Mr. Hummel's here, leave now." Figgins evidently gave up in the face of the indignant group around him.

Puck watched as the club members glanced amongst them, trying to decide who should stay. Santana led Brittany out first, while Brittany waved sadly at Kurt. Then Quinn pecked him on the cheek and whispered something in his ear before taking her leave and Matt and Mike both patted him on the back. Artie wheeled himself next to Kurt to grab his open hand, and Kurt smiled gratefully while Tina took a seat on Artie's other side.

Rachel hesitated, rocking back and forth on one foot, looking more awkward and out of place than Puck had ever seen her. He almost felt a bit bad for the girl he normally enjoyed tormenting. Finally she stepped forward, pulling something out of her jacket pocket.

"Here," she said, thrusting a pink iPod with a gold star sticker on it into Kurt's lap. "I made you some playlists, one for each stage of grief. Obviously it's not perfect, due to time constraints, and I definitely want to tweak them and add music from my extensive collection at home, but it should be acceptable for now." Kurt stared blankly at the gift, and then back at her now tear-filled eyes. "And you know I have two gay dads, so if you ever need-"

"Rachel!" Mercedes exclaimed exasperatedly.

"No, I mean, I didn't mean it that way. Oh God, I'm so sorry!" And with that she threw her arms around a shell-shocked and confused Kurt, who hesitantly returned the embrace. "I'll just go now, but if you need anything-"

"Rachel, there's a seat next to Mercedes." Rachel's eyes widened at his words, (as did Mercedes') but before she could open her mouth Finn forcibly pushed her into the chair and shushed her. She nodded, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Finn took his place standing awkwardly next to her, staring at his hands, but made no move to leave.

It took Puck a moment to realize everyone was staring at him still standing next to the doorway. Even oblivious and perpetually impatient Figgins was looking at him with a decidedly confused expression, as if trying to figure out why on earth the delinquent hadn't left yet.

"Oh, uh, I guess I'll see you around Hummel."

"He can stay." Kurt still hadn't raised his gaze from his lap, but his words were clear. Finn shot him a questioning look, but Puck shrugged it off, unsure himself whether he was grateful or uncomfortable with Hummel's offer. Either way, he stayed where he was, hands thrust deep in his pockets.

With a raised eyebrow and a cluck of his tongue, Figgins said, "Are we done now?"

Everyone nodded, except for Kurt who was absentmindedly fiddling with Rachel's earphones while Mercedes watched him with worried eyes.

"Now, Mr. Hummel, as I said earlier, on behalf of the school we are all very sorry about your loss. That does not give you free reign to leave school grounds during hours however, especially when we had half the staff looking for you."

"Come on, Figgins, is that really what's important here?" Mr. Schue spoke up. "Let's leave reprimanding him for another time."

"It was my fault. I made him leave. Sorry." Puck didn't sound sorry though, and he knew it. He sounded exactly how he felt: defiant and angry at the world, at Figgins for being a prick, at Hummel's dad for dying, at his own-

"All right then, we'll come back to that piece of business later. Since you are still a child, we must decide where you're going to be staying. Your uncle here, has graciously offered to let you stay in his home until the funeral and then we can take it from there."

The man Figgins called Hummel's uncle looked anything but gracious.

"Is that all right with you, Mr. Hummel?" Figgins asked, speaking slowly as though Kurt was Brittany. Kurt shrugged, and the man in the business suit he'd noticed earlier stepped forward, stooping in front of Kurt.

"Kurt, sweetie, I talked to your uncle, and he said if you want, you can stay with us for as long as you like. It's completely up to you." Mercedes nodded vigorously, squeezing Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt didn't answer immediately, and for a minute Puck wondered if he'd even heard them or if he'd gone back into shock or something.

"I think-I think I'd rather stay with my uncle." Mercedes was taken aback.

"But, Kurt, it's really not-"

Her father cut her off smoothly. "If that's what you want, of course. Just know that the invitation is always open, no matter what." He patted Kurt on the shoulder and stood up.

Puck couldn't help but notice that Mr. Hummel looked less than thrilled at the response, and he caught Finn looking the same direction worriedly.

"Kurt, are you sure you don't-"

"Guys, this is Kurt's decision, why don't we let him make it on his own," Mr. Schue interjected, placing one hand on Finn's shoulder.

"All right," Figgins repeated with too much false cheer. "Well now that we have that settled, I will alert all of your teachers about your extended absence and they will work out a plan for getting you caught up in assignments when you return. Now I'd like to-"

"Can I see him?"

Puck was always pretty sure that the expression 'silence is deafening' was one of those hypocritical ones, or oxymoronic or something, but right now it felt all to realistic. Figgins froze mid-sentence, for once at a complete loss of words. Puck was fairly certain Ms. P was about to pass out at the mere suggestion, and Mercedes was now digging her fingers so deeply into Kurt's hand she was leaving imprints in his skin.

Oddly, Artie was the first to break the spell, speaking softly in Kurt's ear, "I'm sure if you go to the hospital and explain, they'll let you in the morgue to see him."

"I'm-I'm not so sure that's such a great idea," Schue said carefully, and Ms. P nodded vigorously next to him.

"Yes, yes, that seems like it would be a family matter, best to be discussed within those parameters, and not in this particular situation," Figgins rambled uncomfortably, and the elder Hummel was looking out a window.

Kurt nodded absently, but Puck could just hear Artie whispering, "I'll go with you if you like," and he had a sneaking suspicion that they were not going to listen to anything their teachers had advised.

"Well, I think that wraps this meeting up," Figgins said quickly, gathering up his papers. "Once again, I am very sorry for your loss, and we at McKinley High look forward to the day you return. Now have a good day." Even Figgins seemed to realize what an inane thing that was to say, though that might've been from the incredulous look on Schue's face.

Mr. Hummel (and it occurred to Puck he still didn't know the man's name) was the first out the door after they were rather rudely dismissed, and Kurt slowly stood to follow with Mercedes still attached to him.

When they got outside Mr. Hummel was waiting by his car and Puck stood awkwardly leaning against the wall, watching everyone say goodbye. Rachel went first, hugging Kurt again and then rushing off, then Tina and Artie with orders to call them if he needed anything, and a promise to come over after school the next day to play video games and let Kurt give Artie a makeover if he was up for it.

Finn started to shake his hand, then seemed to think better of it and grabbed Kurt, pulling him close in a gesture that any other day probably would've made the kid die of happiness. Now though, he just looked kind of shocked and grateful until Finn pulled back, wiping his eyes surreptitiously on his sleeve. Mr. Schue did shake his hand and said something about how much they'd miss him until he got back.

Finally Mercedes reluctantly released Kurt's arm and pulled him into a bone crushing hug, ordering him under no uncertain terms to take care of himself, and telling him she'd be there for whatever he needed. "Now don't you dare do anything stupid," she said, voice breaking and tears spilling onto her cheeks as she let him go. "Love you, boy."

"Love you too, 'Cedes," he answered automatically, with a small, sad smile. "See you guys later," he added lamely before seeking out Puck's eyes and giving him a jerky nod, which Puck returned.

Then he turned away and walked over to his uncles car where he'd been waiting, without looking back. The second they'd pulled out of the parking lot Aretha seemed to lose it, and Tina and her dad were trying to calm her down.

"I can't believe he let me stay."

Puck nearly jumped out of his skin at the words, turning to find Rachel standing next to him, looking in the direction that Kurt had just left. "I thought he hated me." Puck stared at her, wondering what the hell she expected him to say to that.

"Yeah, well, me too," he settled on finally.

"Do you think-do you think he liked my gift?" she asked, her voice small and scared. Puck rolled his eyes.

"Really? That's what you're thinking about right now?"

Rachel shook her head, tears welling up again, and _aw shit. _Puck wasn't sure how much more crying he could take that day. "I mean, do you think he's going to be okay?"

Puck thought about his eyes when he'd told him about his father, sad and lifeless; he thought about the desperate way he'd ran back to the memories of his childhood, trying to find some sort of comfort there; he thought about the feel of his tears slipping off his cheek and onto Puck's neck, the cries that felt like they'd break his body apart; he thought about the quiet, empty boy sitting in Figgins office, vulnerable and breakable.

"How the hell would I know?" he demanded gruffly and stomped back over to his truck, leaving his grieving teammates behind him.

_This wasn't his problem._

xxxXXXxxx


End file.
